


Bulletin Board Buds

by CCubedWrites



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22151836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCubedWrites/pseuds/CCubedWrites
Summary: College AU. Emma and Paul form a friendship with a Bulletin Board and a missing pen.
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 13
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

_ How? _ was the only thought Paul had as he huffed his way out of his room and down the hall. He was dramatically stamping his feet as he went along as if that would somehow make it very clear to whatever bastard chose to take his best pen that it was truly no small matter. He was very upset about it. His school decided a while ago that it would be fun to bring an old school element into the dorms by putting up a public bulletin board. They called it a great way to communicate events, but it was mostly used to put up crude drawings, or lost and found notices. He got to the bulletin board set up at the entrance of the dorms, and found an empty pin that he could use to put up his very neatly typed note, which was just as passive aggressive as him.

_ to the person who saw it fit to take my black fountain pen, I would very much like it back. P.M. _

He nodded his head, as if approving it for himself, before walking off, trying to deny the fact that he would probably never see that pen again. These things never seemed to work. Sarah was still looking for her tea pot that went missing two months ago. 

Paul, on his way out the door that morning, glanced over at the bulletin board only to see someone had scrawled something in very familiar black ink under his note.

**why should I? E.P.**

And for a moment, Paul just kind of stared at that. Not only had this person responded, but they responded using his pen. And they were sassing him. Using his pen. He shook himself out of his daze, and pulled the pencil tucked into the spiral of his notebook free and wrote back at this E.P.

_ I asked nicely. And it's my favorite pen. You can return it to room 253. P.M _

Paul barely paid attention in class. His mind wandered to this E.P. person every time he tried to think of something else. He wondered if this person was going to actually return his pen or if they were simply going to taunt him for the rest of the school year. As soon as class was dismissed, Paul gathered his belongings and made a beeline for the dorms, somehow anxious to see if E.P. had responded. Once he got there, he tried to look as laid back as possible as he walked up to the board, looking as if he was scanning it for something, when his only focus was on his note. He glanced at it, and saw nothing else written on the page. He let out a bit of a disappointed huff. He wasn't sure what he was expecting exactly, but it was more than radio silence.

Paul made the trek back to his room, and even took the time to glance around his door to see if his pen had been returned like he had asked. Of course it hadn't. And so Paul resigned himself to this all being a one off circumstance and a way for him to be tortured with the knowledge that his favorite fountain pen was out there in the hands of someone else.

The next morning, Paul rolled out of bed, throwing together some outfit from the clothes he had left before he was forced to do laundry. He pulled open his door, and saw a small brown paper bag resting at his feet. Paul picked up the bag, uncurling and opening it to reveal his favorite pen sitting there in the bottom along with a note. He grinned from ear to ear as he pulled the pen out of the bag, not hesitating to put it back on his desk where it belonged. He then pulled out the note that accompanied the pen,. It was once again written in the black ink of his fountain pen, and he couldn't help but laugh at this person’s persistence to annoy him.

**Having a favorite pen is kind of weird, but if it means that much to you then here you go. E.P**

Paul, smiled at the note almost absentmindedly for a moment before grabbing the pen and a piece of paper. On his way out the door that day, he stuck the note up on the bulletin board.

_ To E.P. Thank you for returning my pen. I appreciate it. _

Paul didn't expect anything to come from his little thank you note, but when he walked down the hall, back from his classes, etched in blue pen was a little blue heart. He smiled a bit at that.

E.P. slipped Paul's mind for the next week or two. He enjoyed the time back with his pen, and he wandered past the bulletin board, not really taking in it's contents. That was, until, he saw a note signed with an E.P. It was written in the same blue pen.

**Missing: One blue spiral notebook. Doodles on the inside cover. Give it back, I need to study. E.P**

Paul isn't quite sure what compelled him to respond to her note. Especially since he had no idea where that notebook was. But he did it anyway.

_ Not so fun, is it? P.M _

He came back the next morning to a middle finger sketched next to his message. He laughed out loud earning him a few stares from his peers.

A few days passed, and Paul returned to the board fully intending on looking for information on the annual school trip when he saw another note from E.P addressed to him.

**To P.M, I got my notebook back. My professor had it. It's my favorite notebook, so you get it. Hope you and your pen are happy. E.P**

Paul wasn't exactly sure what to do with this. They were writing directly to him this time. It was different when he did it, because he was thanking this person directly. But this was just a conversation start. Like the end of a letter, inviting him to respond. And so he did, because what else was he supposed to do?

_ Figures it's in the last place you look. I do get it, and my pen and I are very happy together, thank you for asking. I hope your study session goes well. P.M _

Paul didn't remember to look at the trip information.


	2. Chapter 2

E.P and Paul had been trading notes back and forth on the bulletin board throughout the past few weeks They were always about the most inconsequential things. 'Are you going on the trip?' 'Yes, are you?' or things like 'I saw a squirrel on campus today with a whole bagel'. That was a long string of notes about how odd it was to see a squirrel carry something that was essentially the same size as it.

People eventually started leaving them both notes telling them to stop clogging up the bulletin board with their conversations. As Paul's hallmate, Ted, wrote, 'Get a room'. E.P. put up a ridiculously large piece of paper after that, with the most obnoxiously large lettering possible:

FUCK YOU and in smaller lettering at the bottom not you, P.M. You're great. E.P

That note came down a lot faster than all the others when the administration saw it, and it was replaced with a notice about using the bulletin board, appropriately and politely. How it was meant to be a resource not a toy. It was very clear who it was directed at, and Paul, channeling his inner E.P sass wrote under the notice:

_ Tsk Tsk, E.P, gonna ruin it for everyone. P.M _

That earned him another middle finger drawing.

Another week or so goes by and E,P and Paul spend that time leaving stupid little notes back and forth, writing on each others postings. Other people start to leave things either telling them to knock it off or encouraging them. Charlotte seems to be their biggest fan at this point, making a point to leave them both little "you two are great" notes every once and awhile. Paul wasn't sure anyone knew it was him or if anyone knew who E.P was, but either way he had become the center of attention for the dorms this year.

At some point in this mess, a posting for the fall musical goes up, and Paul has to roll his eyes. It's Anything Goes which makes matters worse. Of all the musicals they could do, they choose one of the most musical-y? His eyes keep scanning for E.P's note, and he finds it under the audition notice. With an arrow drawn pointing to the poster, it read:

**You should audition for this. E.P**

and Paul, honest to god, takes it as a joke. Laughing to himself he wrote below her note:

_ Yeah right. Like I'd ever be caught dead in a musical. P.M _

He expected to find some "fuck off" kind of note underneath his writing the next day, but there was nothing. Another day passed and still no new notes. Paul was starting to get concerned that he might have actually been to dismissive with this note. In fact, he was too dismissive. It became obvious that E.P wasn't joking far too late at this point. If he had known that they were serious about auditioning and doing the show then he wouldn't have been so rude about it.

_ E.P- Sorry if I made you mad with what I said. I didn't mean to hurt any feelings, but I'm just not a musical fan. But if you made the cast then I guess I'll have to come see it. Let me know? Please? P.M _

Paul couldn’t help the guilt he was feeling. He had come to rely on his conversations with E.P for some kind of consistent enjoyment in his life. He checked the bulletin board every hour for the rest of the day. People start to notice, but he has other things on his mind. Like the ever present paranoia he had somehow managed to ruin a friendship with someone he had never met. Perhaps that was a tad dramatic, but it was how he was feeling.

Eventually, Paul talked himself into going to sleep. A watched pot never boils, right? It was easier to go to sleep instead of staring at the bulletin board all night, hoping that some sort of note would magically appear and E.P Would forgive him for his insensitive humor. 

The next morning, he woke to his prayers answered with a note on the bulletin board in response to him. 

**I did make it. I expect to see you there. E.P**

He smiled to himself, making note of the show dates in his mind.

Regardless of his excitement that E.P was talking with him again, Paul was not exactly looking forward to seeing the show. He was talking at Bill about the whole ordeal as he walked to class. "I promised to go, so I will, but... could they have just chosen something else? Something less razzle dazzley? I don't know. I just think shows like Anything Goes get beat to death, you know what I mean? And how good can they even be? They're not professionals, they're college kids." Someone bumped past him making a point to really get him in the shoulder. They disappeared out of sight before Paul had a second to process who it was or what had really happened.

That night when Paul got back to the dorms, he saw a post from E.P, but this wasn't addressed to him. Well, it was. But they didn't know that.

**To the guy who was talking bad about the drama department: You're an ass. Keep your opinions to yourself. E.P**

Paul's face went bright red when he realized exactly what had happened. Paul waited a couple of days before posting another note, realizing that if he were to go too long, E.P would probably question him on why he hadn’t been speaking to them. Or maybe that was just the worst case scenario that Paul was formulating in his head. In reality, there would be no logical way for E.P. to connect him to the random person she heard talking on campus. He really just wanted to talk to them again regardless. So he left a note up in an attempt to silently repent while also opening up conversation again.   
  


_ Sorry people are assholes. I'll be there closing night. P.M _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad people seem to be enjoying this story. The love it's gotten has made my little heart happy :)


	3. Chapter 3

A few more mundane notes are passed between the two before Paul really starts to get to a place where he really wants to know this person he's talking to. They've been chatting back and forth for quite a while now, and he'd honestly like to know more than this person initials. As far as Paul knew, this person still had his room number, so they already knew more about him than he did about them. He made sure to include that as an afterthought on the note.

_ What does E.P stand for? Which hall do you live on? P.M _

**I don't really think it's best for me to post my personal information in such a public place. Would you answer if I asked that? E.P**

_ Probably not. What does E stand for then? P.M _

**Nice try. That's for me to know, and you to find out on your own. E.P**

_ I take that as a challenge. I'll figure it out. It'll be in the program at the show tomorrow. P.M _

As soon as he got back to his dorm he got an email from his Statistics professor reminding them of the project that they had due on Monday in class. “Shit,” Paul muttered. He had completely forgotten the project even existed, and now it was due right at the beginning of the week. He had to finish it, and he had to finish it before Sunday night, because he made a promise to see E.P’s show, and he wasn’t going to break that, or miss the opportunity to find out exactly who it was he was talking to all this time. But, at the end of the day, the project was worth almost a quarter of his grade, and if he didn’t finish it, he would be screwed.

Eventually, Paul did finish. But only after 37 hours. He had been awake for 37 straight hours, and he was ready to die. It was a relentless day of constant work, and he barely allowed himself anytime to breathe, but he had a goal in mind, and he’d be damned if he didn’t achieve it. So, he finished with just enough time before the curtain for the show. In fact, he had at least 20 minutes before he had to actually leave for the walk to the theatre. That was just enough time to take a breather, and let his brain rest. He sank down onto his bed, and let his eyes fall shut for a moment. When he opened them again, he felt groggy, and almost completely dissociated from his body. He glanced out the window to see the sunset was gone, and it was pitch black. Paul had absolutely no idea what time it was. "Shit!" Paul cursed glancing at the clock on his desk. 9:03 PM. He missed the show. He missed E.P's show. Paul, frantically flung himself out of bed, turning on lights, and grabbing for paper and his pen.

_ E.P, I'm so sorry I fell asleep. I was up all night working on a project. I wanted to see you so badly. I feel awful, I never break a promise like this. Please believe me. I'm so sorry. P.M _

Paul made a point to underline the word ‘sorry’ four times before he walked away. Having already destroyed his sleep schedule by waking up at nine o'clock, Paul stayed up all night, hoping that E.P would accept his apology. He hated the feeling of guilt that was weighing on him like a ton of bricks. He was never going to forgive himself for this. He fell asleep at some point, rocked into a restless sleep by his own anxieties.

As soon as Paul woke the next morning, he was hit with the memories of the evening before, and he was 

As soon as he turned the corner he almost collided with Bill. Bill started to apologize, but after taking a look at Paul's face realized that he should probably say something. 

"You okay Paul?" Bill asked, looking him up a down. The bags under his eyes were only highlighted by the remorse that seemed to come off him in waves. He looked as if he was in a state of panic.

"I broke a promise to someone last night. So I’m just feeling a little guilty."

"Was it that E.P person you're always talking to on the Bulletin board?" Bill asked. "You know, Paul, you don't even know this person. And I can only assume they don't know you. You don't really have to worry about what this person thinks of you, because they don't actually know you."

"Yes, it's E.P. And I know I don't know them, but I still do know them in a way. I don't have any expectations on me with them. I can be myself, because they don't know any other version of me. Our conversations are fun and they make my day better. Making it so they hate me, breaking their trust, it would hurt me. Because how can I be myself when there's no one there to accept me?"

Bill stared at Paul in some sort of shock and disbelief. It wasn't a concept he could fully wrap his head around, but he recognized that this wasn't just a game to Paul. This was a real friendship. "Well, Paul, if they don't accept your apology, you probably didn't want them in your life anyway. A real friend will understand." 

"I sure hope so, Bill."

Bill patted his shoulder as he passed on towards the bulletin board. His eyes fell on the note he left, and almost instantly his heart rate sped up.

_ You're a dumbass. Sleep is more important. But you owe me big time. E.P and they doodled a heart next to the message. _

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So! If you made it this far, and you're reading this, I wrote this a long time ago, and I've decided to publicly post it for whatever reason. There will inevitably be some mistakes, and probably some choppy stuff as I go back and edit some of this content with more talented eyes, but hopefully, you'll find some enjoyment in this story!


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